Charl(i)es' Angels!: Rewrite!
by ThomE.Gemcity-06
Summary: Tag: Season 1, Episode 1: Friends & Enemies. This is a REWRITE of the pilot episode for "CHARL(I)ES' ANGELS!". Summary: d'Artagnan comes to Paris on a vengeful cloud, but instead of going to bed with the poisonous Milady de Winter, he encounters Aramis out of uniform. Includes: d'Artagnan/Fem!Aramis, Fem!Porthos & Fem!Athos. Gender Bender.


**a/n: This is a one-shot, altered version of a gender bended Inseparables, pilot episode.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own the Musketeers, or these lovely characters.**

 **Tag:** _Season 1, Episode 1: Friends and Enemies._

 **Pairing:** _ **d'Artagnan/ Fem!Aramis ~**_ **W/: Fem!Porthos & Fem!Athos.**

 **Summary:** d'Artagnan comes to Paris on a vengeful cloud, but instead of going to bed with the poisonous Milady de Winter, he encounters Aramis out of uniform.

* * *

 **the** **M~U~S~K~E~T~E~E~R~S** \- **S~R~E~E~T~E~K~S~U~M** **eht**

 **Charl(i)es' Angels!**  
 **Rewrite** **:** _Friends & Enemies_

Aramis had shed her Musketeer skin. Gone was her customised pauldron with the Fleur-de-lis. Gone were her sword belt, and her main belt. Gone were the breaches and the shirtsleeves, and the braies. On was the shift, the dress and the corset. Of course, she still had her frock and her hat and her boots folded up, and dagger hidden.

She wasn't ashamed to be a Musketeer, but sometimes, like tonight, she just needed to be a regular woman in Paris, out and looking for a good time.

She didn't know why she stopped at this inn, it wasn't one of her usual haunts. She usually just frequented the same few with Athos and Porthos.

But it was in this inn that she locked eyes with him. Was drawn to him. It was his looks that first caught her attention. Thick, dark hair to his shoulders. His tall, wiry frame. The olive-toned skin. His brown eyes, dark with roiling emotion. That wounded aura.

She bypassed the beautiful dark-haired woman with the cold green eyes and her loud, fat diplomat with the Spanish accent, with hardly a glance and approached the young man sitting alone.

* * *

It was late when d'Artagnan arrived in Paris.

He'd always pictured what it would have been like when he was a kid, his energy and his mind and heart just to big to simply be a simple Gascon farmer. That was why his father Alexandre had taken it upon himself to educate his son; teach him to read and write, and taught him English and French alike, a bit of Latin as well, taught him the art of horseback, swordsmanship and gunmanship. He had seen a brighter future for his son, and that was why he wanted the young man to accompany him to Paris.

But, though his son had made it to the Capital, Alexandre had not.

Attacked by five men, on the same grounds but in different locations, d'Artagnan killed his first man in self-defence and held his dying father in his arms, the killer's name his last words to his son.

d'Artagnan had been taken by a crippling grief in the rain, but soon, it lead him to a burning rage and a want for blood. He'd arrived in Paris, with one point and one point only. Gone was any thoughts of petitioning the King on the taxes of Gascony, and present were the thoughts of killing the men responsible for murdering his father. _Athos_. He would find this Musketeer, and he would duel him to the death. Because the most moral and beautiful things that Alexandre had passed on to his only son; was a man's honour, his heart for justice, his mind for truth, his body for defending the weak.

He didn't have much coin to him, but he found a local inn where he could afford a room, and a meal that even his empty stomach rebelled from.

He found a faltering distraction. Long dark-black hair, skin like pale porcelain, green eyes like a lizards and lips painted with blood. Though they linger but a moment on this woman, accompanied by her pompous and fat companion. He made some cutting remarks to the man—his fuse made short by his grief and anger—later, he wouldn't even remember what he said. But he soon disregarded the man, and the woman as another walked in.

This time, his gaze stayed on the woman. More beautiful than the last.

She walked with a confidence. Big, brown eyes. A shade of brown hair that fell from under her hat and looped over her shoulders. There was a curve to her lips that drew his gaze, a knowing in her eyes.

Things moved so slow and so fast at the same time. Aramis sat at his table, taking her hat off and setting it on the table, shaking her hair out. He waved at the bartender and the wench brought a bottle over. He poured the drinks. That woman and man were a forgotten thing, even as the woman glared across at the pair unnoticed.

When the Gascon chuckled at something she said, she got the first glimpse into who he was. Not long after that, they found their way into his rented room.

* * *

Milady was silently seething, the rage boiling beneath a cold mask. The Cardinal tasked to her to become Raul Mendoza's lover, keep him close and ply him for information. Being a Spanish Ambassador allowed that, but she'd quickly grown disinterested in the task and the man himself. He was a horrible lover, every time he opened his mouth she wanted to slash his throat.

She'd been working and plotting on getting Athos killed. She'd finally tracked the Comtesse down, now a lieutenant in the Musketeers. That was how she had met Richelieu and became his Agent and spy. Their goal intersected. He wanted to destroy the Musketeers, and she wanted to annihilate Athos for her betrayal. Once she found the woman, it was only a matter of time. So it was at the inn that her lust was drawn by the handsome young man seated alone at the table. After being made to take a sub par man like Mendoza as a lover, she was made want for young blood.

But her anger aroused when the young man's gaze slide from hers and to another. Milady recognized this woman, even out of uniform. Aramis. She was also a Musketeer and close friend to Athos. A new plan started to form in her mind.

Sadly, it didn't involve sex with the Gascon, but she'd get satisfaction in taking out someone close to Athos—and rid her of Mendoza as a bonus. Fortunately, the young man's short fuse towards Mendoza struck in line with it.

* * *

d'Artagnan fell asleep, exhausted. His journey from Gascony, the loss of his father, his heat for vengeance, sex with Aramis. Oddly, she didn't feel like a soldier to him. There was something about her that wasn't like any woman he'd encountered before. There was this sense that she exuded that made his broken heart feel that there might be something worth it left after his duel with Athos.

* * *

In the morning, the sun cut through the clouds over Paris bright and early. The rains from the night before that had brought him tragedy—a thing of the past. If in the world, but not in him.

d'Artagnan sighed softly, the sunlight shining warmly on his exposed skin. And just like that, like a thread snapping, gone was the peace he'd somehow managed to feel for the last several hours. He eyes shot opened and he snapped upright on the covers.

Aramis was startled by his sudden wake-up reaction. Already up, she was mostly dressed. The slowly rising clamour out in the hall urging her up. She could tell that d'Artagnan had been exhausted, and wondered what it was that could have woken him so sudden like that. But it took one to know one. She'd known the minute she sat across from him. The grief was like a crack in his soul.

But she showed light amusement as she twisted on the bed to look at him, and twitched her brow slightly upward. "Could sense my leaving, huh, Charlie?"

His eye gave a little twitch as she called him that. "Jumping into my life like this, and then leaving? You're practising to be a cruel woman, Aramis." He whispered. He was only half-teasing.

Instead of answering, she just leaned across the bed and caught his lips. There was a shout in the hall outside that forced them apart and they both glanced at the door.

"What's happening out there?" he wondered.

She shrugged. "Don't know. But it woke me up. Surprised it didn't you."

d'Artagnan flipped the sheets aside and stood. She watched him, the way he moved, the rise of his shoulders as he breathed as he dressed. He turned and she was standing there. She reached up and cup his neck, drawing his mouth towards hers. Their lips barely brushed when there was a shriek out in the hall that had them both rushing for the door.

"What's happening?" Aramis wondered at the gathered crowd at the room on the other side of the hall. She tensed as she spotted the Red Guard. That wasn't good. d'Artagnan made her want to linger, but it probably wouldn't go over well if the Red Guard recognized her.

"What's that?" She looked over to see d'Artagnan bend and come back up with a broken blade in his hand.

"What the—?"

"Him!" the old wench that had showed d'Artagnan his room and given his that disgusting stew, was waving at him from the gathered crowd. "I saw him arguing with the man the other night!"

Suddenly, the whole crowd turned and the pair saw for the first time, what the cause for all the commotion was about. The fat man from the other night, lay dead and naked in the inn bathing tub, his throat slit. And the wench was accusing him, who had made cutting remarks at the man and was holding a blade that he just now realized was tipped with the brown of dried blood.

"No, no, no. You've got the wrong man." d'Artagnan waved his hand in denial, realized it was the one holding the broken and bloodied blade, and quickly dropped it.

"You're under arrest!" a Guard shouted.

d'Artagnan and Aramis took one glance at the advancing crowd and then each other, and jumped back into the room and slammed the door shut. He quickly shoved the broken dresser in front of the door.

"The window!" Aramis said.

d'Artagnan quickly climbed out onto the short wooden awning outside his window and the old and rotting wood starting to give beneath his weight as he made the end. He hadn't even thought about it, following Aramis' word. There was something about her that made him trust her. He leapt.

He was left groaning on the ground, the hilt of his sword shoved up into the left side of his ribcage. He ignored the pain and scrambled to his feet, turning to look up for Aramis, but the woman was next to her instead, dusting off her hat before she put it back on her head.

"You should have waited!" he said. "You could have hurt yourself!" he was to anxious to be embarrassed about his own landing, when it appeared that she'd been like a cat in her decent.

Aramis chuckled lightly. "I believe you took care of that yourself." She eyed the way that he held his arm tight against his side. "Alright?"

"Fine." He nodded and was wondering what to make of her feat when the Red Guard and several of the male patrons of the inn found their room empty and rushed back down the stairs after them.

"Halt!"

"Come on!" Aramis grabbed his hand and ran.

Even in a dress, she knew how to run. d'Artagnan followed her willingly. She was a resident of Paris and knew the streets, whereas this was his first time seeing the city in the daylight.

"Aramis!"

At the call of her name, she quickly halted, panting herself and d'Artagnan breathing heavily beside her. Through the street goers, she quickly spotted the odd pair. Her other halves. Athos and Porthos. She waved, and quickly pulled d'Artagnan into a side alley, quickly taking off her hat and frock.

"Who are they?" d'Artagnan wondered, his brow beaded with sweat, his ribs aching as he watched her.

Aramis pushed him back against the wall and grinned. "My other halves. Now kiss me."

d'Artagnan raised his brow, but even in a situation like this, couldn't refuse such an order. Even if he knew that it was done as concealment against their pursuing party. Not one to let an opportunity pass him by, he didn't hold back either. Hands on her hips, he drew her closer. Aramis readily took his tongue.

Athos and Porthos paused and watched as Aramis dragged the young man she was with into the side alley, and then moments later, a couple Red Guard rushed passed them on the street. They shared a knowing look, and headed for their friend to find out what trouble her carnal urges had gotten her into this time.

They paused at the mouth of the alley—to a very adult scene.

"Ahem." Porthos cleared her throat in amusement.

Breathing heavily, the pair separated reluctantly and faced the pair. Both flushed from similar and different reasons.

Athos ignored the Gascon and addressed her friend. "Who's wife, daughter, husband, or son have you violated this time to warrant the attentions of the Red Guard?" she drawled, unimpressed.

Aramis sputtered in protestation as she bent to retrieve her frock and hat. "You make me sound like I'm robbing cradles!"

Porthos jerked her chin at d'Artagnan. "If the peach fuzz doesn't grow."

d'Artagnan puffed up indignantly at the jibe. "I'll have you know I'm twenty-four, and could grow a beard if I so wish."

She chuckled and held up her hand. "Easy, pup."

"So who's the boy-toy, Aramis?" Athos said.

"Charlie—" he gave her a look and she sighed. _"d'Artagnan_." She amended. "And these are my not-so charming counterparts. Porthos and Athos."

d'Artagnan's entire demeanour changed in at instant at Athos' name. And in the blink of an eye, he had his sword drawn and pointed at the woman's heart.

"Charlie! What are you doing?" Aramis demanded. She didn't have her sword or her pistol on her, just the dagger. But Athos was armed, and so was Porthos; the latter already had her pistol pointed and cocked.

"You're Athos." He ignored Aramis slightly behind his shoulder, and Porthos next to Athos, and focused on the unmoving woman herself.

"I am." Athos replied.

d'Artagnan swept the cloak from her right shoulder with the point of his sword and revealed the Musketeer pauldron beneath. "And a Musketeer."

Athos made no reply, there was no need—the evidence was plain to see, and just stared at him steadily.

d'Artagnan inhaled. "You killed my father for a measly coin purse."

"I don't know the man you speak of."

"Then you're a liar as well as a killer." He took a shuddering breath. Aramis had done well, she'd taken him so far out from reality and his grief that he had forgotten. He felt sick with himself. He had betrayed his father's memory. "Draw your sword. One of us will die in this alley." He stepped back and allowed the woman room. He could feel Aramis tense at his back, but his focus was on Athos.

"I am sorry for your loss, but I did not kill your father." Athos said.

"Just as a guilty woman would say."

"As would an innocent." And she drew her sword from her scabbard. It would be in bad taste if she had to kill Aramis' lover, but she would if her hand was forced.

"Athos, just let me take care of this real simply." Porthos twitched the pistol.

d'Artagnan saluted her and she shook her head at her friend, returning the gesture and d'Artagnan struck.

Aramis and Porthos were forced to watch. The fight moving fast and hard in the tight space in the alley. Somehow, Aramis managed to find herself next to Porthos at the mouth., blocking any passer-by's from the spectacle.

"What kind of men are you attracted to, Aramis?" Porthos wondered.

The woman didn't answer, her attention intent on the fight. Though injured, d'Artagnan was managing to return Athos, blow for blow. She waited, tense, praying for an opening long before Athos killed d'Artagnan, or d'Artagnan managed to kill Athos. It was several tense strikes more before that happened.

When Aramis saw an opening, she moved fast, her dagger drawn. She locked the man's weapon down, much to his surprise.

"Aramis! What are you doing? Get out of the way!"

She shook her head. "No, Charlie. You have to stop this."

"This isn't your concern, Aramis." d'Artagnan growled, rage bright in his eyes. "Move. I don't want to fight you as well, but I will if you force my hand."

"Then I'm sorry, Charlie." She whispered, tight-lipped. And struck him in his weak spot. Punching his bruised ribs.

d'Artagnan wheezed. The air forced from his lungs. He groaned, dropping his sword, bending over, his arm going around his middle as he stumbled back a step. Porthos retrieved his fallen sword, and threat desisted, Athos sheathed hers from behind Aramis.

Aramis grimaced in sympathy at the pain she knew she caused, but he had left her with no other alternative. She reached out for his shoulder, but he shrugged out from her touch as he stood.

He looked over her shoulder at Athos. "If you didn't kill him, then why did he name you his killer?"

"I don't know." Athos answered him honestly.

"Best get on, lad." Porthos said. "Before I change my mind."

"Charlie—" Aramis tried.

d'Artagnan shook his head and rushed from the alley. Porthos kind enough to give him his sword back. And he ran.

He ran blindly, until he was gasping, sweat in his eyes blinding him, pushing passed the tight bodies crowding the streets of Paris, their faces blurring together. He was in a strange place, lost. He had a difficult enough time trying to find an inn when he arrived the night before. His run with Aramis from the Guard had confused him even more, as had his blind run. But he kept going, even as he could hardly get a breath in him, his lungs tight. Until he ran into a red-haired woman in the tight street of the market. He caught her before she fell though, barely staying upright himself.

"Watch it, eh?" Constance scoffed at the young man.

d'Artagnan gasped. "Sorry. Are you alright? Sorry, Miss."

" _Madame_ ," she corrected automatically.

" _Madame_. I am sorry, truly." He edged around her with a grimace.

"Sure." She eyed him. "Are _you_ alright?"

He glanced back at her, his gaze a bit unfocused. "I'm... okay..." and to prove the point, his eyes rolled up into his head and he collapsed to the ground amid the rushing bodies.

Constance gasped and watched as no one made a move to help him—they barely spared him a glance before they stepped over his body. She'd just knelt by his side, lifting his head into her lap, when she heard a woman's cry.

"Charlie!" After a brief talk with Athos and Porthos at d'Artagnan's entertaining introduction and parting, she'd left the pair and run off after the Gascon. She wasn't sure she had a chance of finding him, Paris was a big place. But she'd taken a chance and stuck to the main street and came upon the market just in time to watch him collapse. "Charlie..." she knelt on the other side of the red-haired woman.

"Do you know him?" Constance asked.

Aramis nodded. "We have to move him." She brushed the bangs from his sweaty brow.

"My husband's house is close by." Constance suggested after a moment, watching the woman.

Aramis looked up at her. "You're sure, _Madame?_ " Constance nodded. "That's most kind."

They paid coin to rent a booth's handcart, loaded the unconscious d'Artagnan onto the bed, and pulled him to the Bonacieux residence.

* * *

d'Artagnan sighed against the gentle touch done unto him. After his father, he didn't believe he'd ever feel that again. Then it came crashing against him. His father—he didn't know anyone in Paris who would want to treat him so.

His hand shot up and grasped the wrist of the caressing, they stilled instantly. He finally opened his eyes and found himself looking into the soft brown gaze—the very same that he had stared into the night before, belonging to the same beautiful and amazing woman that had made him for a moment, not forget, but cope with, his eternal grief.

"Aramis," he gasped, and she smiled in response. And then his eyes narrowed because he hadn't forgotten the alley either. "What are you doing here?" he glanced around and realized he didn't actually know where _here_ was. "Where am I?"

"This lovely lady," Aramis introduced, looking towards the door as Constance entered, caring a jug of water, "Was kind enough to offer her assistance and residence after your collapse in the Market."

d'Artagnan looked over at the red-haired woman and remembered running into such a person before his world had tilted sideways, and then so had he. "My thanks, _Madame_. And my apologies. I'll leave presently." And he released Aramis' wrist finally and attempted to sit up next to the woman seated on the edge of the bed.

"No." Both woman scolded, much to his surprise, and he was stopped by Aramis' warm hand on what he discovered was his bare chest, with his ribs bound tightly in stripes of linen. His instinct was to push against the hand, but the ache of his side and the tight wrap worked against his wants.

"I can leave if I so wish." He claimed. But he was floored. He had thought he made his intentions pretty clear to the Spaniard.

Aramis scoffed. "You think you can get passed the both of us, hmm?" she gestured to herself and Constance.

"If you have not realized before, Aramis—I was running _away_ from you." He glared. "Now let me leave."

She heard his words, but he didn't seem all that intent on actually wanting to leave, so she took that as a sign. "No." She refused him. "What you did in that alley was foolish."

This time, he did sit up and she allowed it. He looked at her level. "You're friend's with the woman that killed my father!"

Constance gasped quietly at the accusation. From the minute she saw this pair, she didn't know what to make of them. And this just doubled that feeling. What had she gotten herself into?

"You are mistaken!" Aramis denied, shaking her head. "She would never do such a thing."

"How could my father mistake his killer's name?" he demanded.

Aramis could only shrug helplessly. "Maybe—"

"You lied to me about who you were." He accused, for whatever reason feeling betrayed as if they knew each other years instead of hours. Hers was the first connection that he had made since his father, and he found himself unwanting to let go.

"Being a Musketeer isn't all I am..." she whispered quietly.

And at the tone in her voice, he found himself grasping the woman's softly callused hands. He should have realized by that. He caressed her cheek gently with his thumb. And for the moment, the Athos between them was forgotten.

There had been that raw emotion between them last night, that physical lust. They hadn't discussed much personal, but spoke about themselves with each touch, stroke, and kiss. They'd cracked each other open and exposed themselves to a stranger the way they couldn't with some the knew.

Constance watched them, feeling almost as if she was intruding. She could feel the intensity, the electricity between them. She felt the flutters of jealousy. She always wondered what that would be like—to have such a passion for someone. She loved her husband in her way, but it had never been something like what she was witnessing now.

"Aramis, we've got trouble." Porthos loomed in the doorway.

Constance, Aramis, and d'Artagnan all jumped at the tall woman's sudden appearance.

"Who are you?" Constance gasped, having nearly dropped the jug. She quickly set it on the side table.

"This is Porthos." Aramis introduced. "She's a friend. This is _Madame_ Constance Bonaciuex."

"'Nother of your _friends_?" Porthos remarked dryly, taking in the scene with a quick flicker of her dark eyes.

"I am a married woman!" Constance said indignantly at the clear accusation applied.

"Apologies, _Madame_." Porthos said quickly with a grimace.

"Mm." The smaller woman looked unimpressed.

Amusement swimming across her face for a moment, she looked at the tall woman. "How did you find us?" Aramis questioned.

"A lad faintin' in the Market and two beautiful women haulin' 'im off—that tends to get noticed."

"I didn't faint!" d'Artagnan protested and was ignored but for Aramis patting him consolingly on the shoulder. He looked at her in dismay.

"What's happened?" She asked.

"The Guard came and arrested Athos for robbery and murder." The tall woman shook her head.

"What?" Aramis jumped to her feet. "Does Treville know?"

Porthos nodded, her expression thunderous. "Told Athos to go with no trouble."

"What the hell was he thinking?"

"Don't know, but we've got to get 'er out before they hang 'er for something' she didn't do."

"Athos?" Constance wondered.

"You're acquainted?" Aramis asked.

"You could say that."

It was quiet in the room for a moment, and then Aramis turned to d'Artagnan. "We both have some serious questions, Charlie. Both to which answers relate to Athos' fait. Don't you want to find out the absolute truth? Help us." She beseeched.

d'Artagnan scoffed in derision after his moment of shock at the plea. "Athos murdered my father, why would I help her?"

Aramis sat on the edge of his bed. "Athos is no murderer. She's a good and honourable woman. She's being framed, Charlie."

d'Artagnan shook his head, tight-lipped. The truth was, ever since his confrontation with the woman in the alley, he was starting to question. He wondered if there could be another Athos out there, but the name was just too unique. And what where the chances that there would be two people named Athos in the Musketeer regiment in Paris? No. It was either Athos, or it wasn't. He looked at Aramis—this woman would be the deciding factor.

"Can you swear that Athos had nothing to do with my father's murder? Do that, and I will help in any way that I can."

Aramis nodded and she grasped his hand, her brown gaze locking with his. "I can honestly say that Athos did not kill your father, Charlie. If she had, she would have admitted so when you accused her."

A minute ticked by, the silence charged as he searched Aramis' eyes. Finally, he relented. "Alright."

Prothos exhaled in relief, and was eager to start, taking a step into the room. "What can you tell us of what 'appened?"

d'Artagnan gulped and took a deep breath, and recounted to them his encounter with the Musketeers at the inn.

"Well, as you can see, Athos is a women." Porthos commented.

"I shot one of them. His body might still be there." He said.

She nodded. "Let's go. We're wastin' light."

"Can you ride?" Aramis asked.

He nodded. "I'll be fine—if I don't pass out from how tight you wrapped my ribs" His fingers brushed against the strip of linen.

"Don't you mean faint?" she whispered, with a small chuckle.

He gave her a scrupulous brow and she returned the expression with a cheeky smile that made her look cute and he sighed.

* * *

The rest of the day, and all through the night—time moved both fast and slow consecutively. The man that he had killed at the inn bore them more questions, but soon gave insight as the three some came across that slaughtered bodies of Musketeers that Captain Treville had sent the Inseparables in search of earlier. This discovery, lead them to a recent gambling companion of Porthos', whom with a 'simple chat' (which gleaned him into the antics of Aramis and Porthos) pointed them towards his Captain of the Red Guard.

It had been a long day and night, filled with adrenaline rushes and answers. And by morning, the three of them were able to prove Athos' innocence. d'Artagnan got his justice (of the correct culprit) and gained a sense of peace that he otherwise wouldn't have been able to if he had killed the wrong person for his father's death. Thus, Athos was saved from the firing squad.

Now, and still wondering exactly what he was thinking, d'Artagnan came to find himself at the garrison and joining in morning muster, standing next to his one-shot lover.

"One of your conquest's decided to stick around, I see, Aramis." Captain Treville noted. He eyed d'Artagnan, who stood straighter, despite his bruised ribs. "And what makes you believe you have what it takes to be a King's Musketeer, son?"

"He matched Athos in a duel," Aramis offered helpfully.

"He can speak for himself," Treville said, but he glanced at Athos. "Is this true?"

Athos replied, staring straight ahead. "He has a raw potential." After the first strike, she'd realized the young man was injured, but he didn't hold back, and that made her, as a swordswoman, not hold back either. He could hold his own and she could respect that. "High praise, coming from her." The Captain said to the Gascon. "Don't mess this up."

"Yes, sir." d'Artagnan answered firmly.

And with that, Treville dismissed his men and headed back up to his office.

Aramis grinned at him, grasped the back of his neck, and pulled the Gascon in for a kiss.

"No shaggin' the new recruit, Aramis." Porthos chided. d'Artagnan was blushing by the time Aramis released him.

The Spaniard gave her a mock pout. "That was the entire point for convincing him to stay."

Athos shook her head. "You're getting lazy in your old-age, Aramis. Can't even get up the energy to find a lay outside the garrison." Aramis never brought her strays back to the garrison, so the lad must have something that she hadn't seen yet.

"Come on, lad." Porthos grasped the Gascon around the shoulder. "Let's start you're trainin', eh?" She grinned wickedly. "My favourite. 'And-to-'and!"

d'Artagnan gulped as the woman walked him to the middle of the yard.

"Porthos!" Aramis protested. "You better not break him, I have plan's later!"

"Don't worry, I won't—much!" the tall woman laughed.

And though d'Artagnan had fears about exactly how the next hour so was going to go, he knew he was in the right place. He wondered if his father must have known, that this was what his son was meant for. He'd come across Aramis, and he knew that that beautiful woman had saved his life in more ways than one. And how the rest of his life played out, would be in these three women's' hands.

(the end)

* * *

 **the** **M~U~S~K~E~T~E~E~R~S** \- **S~R~E~E~T~E~K~S~U~M** **eht**

 **y**


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